The carriage jolted over the ruts. Saigo tried in vain to get used to his new body. It wasn't the extra thirty kilos – his trained physique could handle the weight. The trouble was the very essence of this body. It was sluggish, unwieldy, like a sack of wet sand.
Every movement registered in his consciousness with an annoying delay, as if the signals from his brain were lagging. And the damned gilded armor only worsened the hell, turning a simple turn of the head into an engineering problem.
'How do they even live like this? And more importantly – why?' – the thought drilled into his brain. He already imagined ditching this stupid metal sarcophagus at the first step into the cave's coolness.
An ear pressed to the cold glass caught the change in rhythm – the rumble of voices, the neighing of horses. They were approaching. The chatter of servants and riders from the entourage trailing the carriage like a ragged tail confirmed: 'The target is near.'
The mountain entrance was monumental. An arch, in whose belly a decent-sized house could easily fit. On guard – two guards. Pauldrons with the Phoenix emblem shone with cold silver. At the sight of the procession, the spearmen tensed, their halberd shafts closing into a barrier. One stepped forward, his voice booming as if from a well:
"Who goes there?!"
A servant rolled forward – a walking caricature of capital fashion, dressed so outlandishly even court jesters would envy him. He adjusted his plumed hat with a flourish:
"You are honored by the presence of Lindsi von Altstadt himself, head of the Silver Caravan! Our master has arrived to undertake the Trial! May the gods bless him!"
The guards exchanged glances. They, by duty, knew who this was. And because of that, silent amazement, bordering on shock, didn't leave their faces.
"Still, permit us to verify…" the front guard began.
The circus had finally gotten to Saigo. The carriage door flew off its hinges with a crash from his kick. He tumbled out with a quick, unexpectedly sharp movement for his new form, ignoring the servants' frightened squeals. Those not in on the switch were stunned: they had never seen their master so… furiously energetic.
Saigo loomed over the guard, radiating such a concentrated wave of contempt and hidden threat that the man's shoulders instinctively hunched, as if he was trying to retract his head into his armor like a turtle.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" Saigo roared in his new, high-pitched, yet chillingly loud voice.
"U-ummm… Is it… really you?" the stunned guardsman stammered.
"Yes, ME!" Saigo yanked the visor up. "Can you remove your helmet?"
"Damn you to hell! What do I even pay taxes for?!" The clasp clicked, revealing his face. "Well?! Satisfied?!"
The guard nodded, unable to utter a word, and waved a hand towards the massive pack at his feet.
"What else?!" Saigo didn't break character. In one motion, he unzipped the pack, grabbed the guard by the helmet, and forcefully shoved his face into the bag's depths, stuffed with wineskins, hardtack, and other junk. "Satisfied?!"
"Y-yes…" a muffled echo came from the pack's depths.
The second guard, recovering from the shock, took a step:
"If you do not calm down immediately, I will be forced to…"
"Piss your official trousers, I know!" Saigo cut him off, releasing the first. "Just let me through already!"
The guard nearest the arch nodded silently, pulled a scroll and a quill from his breast. "Sign. Here. The oath: that you will enter and slay the creature alone, without any assistance."
Saigo snatched the parchment, his eyes quickly scanning the official letters. He scrawled a sweeping, careless autograph. Shoved the scroll back into the stunned hands.
"Good luck!" the second guard called after him as his comrade spat out crumbs.
Saigo, who had already stepped into the arch's shadow, turned halfway. The shadow hid his face, but his voice rang with the old, familiar steel:
"Luck is for losers. I only need instinct…"
He dissolved into the darkness, leaving the guards in silent, unabashed disbelief.
Saigo walked fast, almost ran. Every extra moment in this prison of flesh and gilded metal was torture. The cave stretched like an endless, gloomy gut. The risk of being noticed still at the entrance hung in the air, but the first turn offered a chance. He threw the damned pack into a dark corner. 'Now, how does this come off?'
He dug his fingers into the disgustingly soft cheeks and pulled. Pain – sharp, tearing. But no blood. So, it wasn't flesh, but an illusion, a magical overlay on his real body.
'A stupid facade.' He pulled again, gritting his teeth. Something deep inside the disguise cracked. Relief, like a gulp of ice-cold water, flooded him. With a sound resembling peeling a rotten, dried bandage from burned skin, the false flesh tore away.
Chunks of the blubber-like substance collapsed inside the armor, dissolving into plumes of lilac smoke that smelled of rot.
Saigo pulled out a small mirror. In the dull reflection, his real face flashed – sharp, painfully familiar. Satisfaction, sharp and wild, pricked his chest. He was back.
Quickly building a hidden cache from stones for the discarded gear, he armed himself. He touched the blade's hilt – it was familiar, solid. 'Time.'
His fingers clenched the brooch-artifact. It clicked like a broken bell. A double materialized before him. It stood, looking through Saigo with an empty, glassy gaze of a sentient tool.
"Go ahead." Saigo's voice was low and clear, like steel striking stone.
The clone nodded silently and strode into the darkness. Saigo followed, keeping his distance.
The cave was drearily monotonous: black, damp walls, a floor studded with stalagmites like rotten teeth, and a condensation-slick, sloping floor that kept trying to trip him.
He traveled light, feeling the freedom of movement. Silence pressed down, broken only by dripping water and the clone's footsteps. According to that book, all the real life was deeper. Much deeper…
At a fork, Saigo froze. The clone passed through unhindered. But something clicked in his subconscious – an instinct honed by hundreds of ambushes. His gaze slid over the wall. There, in a deep crevice, it glimmered almost imperceptibly: a magical mine. A complex pattern, woven into the stone, emitted a dull, poison-green glow.
"Hmm…" Saigo squinted, studying the trap. "And who put you here, beauty? And more importantly – for whom?"